


Soul for Sale

by girlg33k



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - American Revolution, Big Bang Challenge, I lied there is some gore but it's not very detailed, Includes references to real people, Inspired by Hamilton and TURN, Kylux - Freeform, Kylux Big Bang, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Off screen Torture, Top Hux, minor period-typical homophobia, not between Kylo and Hux but you could get hanged for that back then, some violence but not very gorey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7018777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlg33k/pseuds/girlg33k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The colonial uprising. King George III has sent his best to subdue and retake the colonies for the Crown. Duke Brendol Hux II, Major in His Majesty's army, hires Hessian Kylo Ren as a guard and spy. Hux takes custody of a town south of New York, intending to establish a trade route, but one thing after another goes wrong. The British have been winning, but will soon be pushed back north, as Hux faces his failures.</p><p>Art by http://seriousmelam.tumblr.com/</p><p>Part of the Kylux Big Bang 2016</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When he asked his fellow British officers for advice, they'd suggested approaching the German units, to hire a Hessian. The British ranks were filled with the mercenaries, hired by the King to send to America to fight in lieu of his own people. Major Brendol Hux II, Duke and servant to His Majesty King George III, wanted more than just an ordinary soldier. He wanted someone exceptionally skilled – a spy, a guard, a warrior. An officer directed him to a smaller elite unit in the west, to find one of the men labeled _Jäger –_ specialized hunters and rangers.

The man he was directed to was camped away from the others, polishing a steel blade with pale hands, thick dark hair a curtain over his features. When he approached, his eyes widened at the black leather mask the man wore, covering all but a full mouth and shadowed eyes, as well as his entirely black wardrobe. The Hessian paused in his work and looked up, dark eyes peering out at the intruder.

“ _Was ist es?_ ” The voice from barely moving lips was low and heavy, but the words made Hux's brow furrow.

“I beg your pardon?”

The other man huffed and asked his question again, this time in heavily accented English. “What is it?”

“I desire to attain your services, Hessian. Your fellows suggested that you have the skills I am looking for.”

The man eyed the Major in silence, the perfectly pressed shirt beneath the stiff vest, properly set wig, and pristine red overcoat, then returned his attention back to his blade and whetstone. “I have skills. Which ones do you want? _Ermordung?_ Assassination? Spying? Do you want me to march south with your soldiers so you can sit in your comfy _haus_ while the war rages?”

The Major scoffed slightly at the insinuation. “I will be commanding my own unit. As a _Major_ in the service of His Majesty. And, yes. Assassin. Spy. Personal guard. Perhaps an edge to my troops if you will train them in ways we differ. All these things. Are you capable?”

Snorting with derision, the Hessian set aside his whetstone and rose to his feet. Hux's eyes widened slightly; the man was enormous. He'd looked a bit of a lump hunched over his sword, but he towered on his feet, fitted leather chest piece and cloak doing little to hide wide shoulders and large physique.

“One condition, and I will do these things. Prove yourself worth serving. In combat.”

Hux stared at the other man, mouth slightly agape. “Excuse me? You want me to _fight_ you?”

The Hessian huffed irritably. “You came to me without knowing? I don't just go with whoever has the deepest purse. Prove yourself.”

The Major was clearly put out by this suggestion. Him, fight a common mercenary. But the truth was, he needed the other man. They would be moving through the forests to the south, and he had no idea how to navigate such an environment. “Hand-to-hand is not my forte, Hessian. However, I will take on a challenge of marksmanship, which I hear your sort excels with. Assuming that antiquated piece is in proper working order?”

A large grin stretched out beneath the shadow of the leather mask. “ _Ja_ , it works.” He grabbed his rifle, an old and worn looking thing, and motioned for the Major to follow him. “We pick a target, then increase the distance with each shot. First to miss loses.”

The Hessian led the Major to a copse of trees, and picked out the thickest trunk that allowed for clear shots in increasing distances. “Sure you can hit this, _ja_?” the man goaded, setting the butt of his German Jaeger rifle down in the grass so he could load a metal bullet. The Major merely snorted, and set to loading his own weapon – in pristine condition, of course, despite the internal modifications that allowed for greater accuracy and increased distance. The Hessian's gaze locked on the rifle, noting that Hux had loaded his weapon from the back end, rather than the muzzle.

“What is that? What are you doing?”

The Major only grinned. “What? You don't have one of these? They're quite rare. General Howe has most of them locked away somewhere. Too bad for you, hm?” He paced out a distance from their chosen target, took aim, and fired the first shot. Perfectly center. Without a word, the Hessian moved alongside and took his own shot, nearly matching the previous wound in the tree. Hux reloaded, far more quickly, and was already paced back another five feet and aiming his second shot while the Hessian stuffed another bullet down his muzzle.

Shot for shot. Another five paces, a little more variety in where the bullets struck the tree. Both men fell silent, concentrating on their individual shots, growing more serious as the difficulty rose. Five more paces, not as centered, but still hitting the target. At the final distance, Hux missed the target, by mere inches. The Hessian did not.

The larger man leaned on his rifle, eying the pristinely dressed General. “I will work for you.”

Hux turned to him with a frown, slinging his rifle over a shoulder. “But I missed.”

“ _Ja_ , you missed. Barely.” He shrugged. “I said you had to prove yourself, not beat me.” The man grinned, then grew serious. “One thing. I work for you, not your King. Or not at all.”

Hux opened his mouth to protest, to defend his King, but let out a sigh instead. Did he really need this man to be loyal to the Crown, or just loyal to the Pound? He needed the Hessian's expertise, and as long as the man was loyal to _something_ , and something he could provide, that should be enough. “Alright. You work for me. Major Brendol Hux.” He extended a hand.

The Hessian took the hand with a lop-sided grin. “Kylo Ren. You could never pronounce my German name; none of you English can. I look forward to spending your money, Major.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jäger - literally "hunter," in the German military they were an elite infantry unit made up of hunters and rangers.   
> Was ist es? - What is it?  
> Ermordung - Assassination  
> Haus - house  
> Ren uses a cutlass and a German made Jaeger/hunting rifle.   
> Hux uses a Ferguson rifle, a standard pistol, and an officer's sword.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this chapter provided by: http://seriousmelam.tumblr.com/  
> Thank you!

 

They marched through the trees under the cover of darkness, Hux bringing up the rear on his horse, Ren walking beside him. The dark figure nearly blended into the night, except for the silver threading of his leather mask, which glimmered as star and moonlight poked through the trees. Quite suddenly, Ren stopped, and a hand reached out for the horse's reigns, stopping Hux, as well. “Your men,” he began in a low voice, but before he could finish his warning, shouts rang out as rebel soldiers sprung from the darkness and attacked. Held back, Hux was spared from the initial ambush. A series of curses in guttural German flew from Ren's mouth as he drew his sword. “Stay here,” he growled, stalking forward into the chaotic fray.

 

Seconds later, a bullet whistled by too closely, and Hux quickly dismounted to make himself less an obvious target. That was as close as the battle ever came to the Major, however. All too quickly, the only sounds in the forest were the groans of injured or dying men. The fighting had ceased, but Hux wasn't entirely sure who was the victor. Something emerged from the darkness; a lone, towering figure. Ren – his black uniform now nearly as red as a British soldier's.

 

“Ambush,” the Hessian hissed as he neared, and Hux wondered if all the blood on the uniform was truly from their enemies. “French tactics. It seems those _bastarde_ are providing more than ships and weapons.”

 

Hand stroking the neck of his nervous horse, Hux frowned. “What the bloody hell happened? Where are my men?”

 

“Dead, mostly.”

 

“How many were there?”

 

“Too many. They knew we were coming. There is a spy somewhere in the British ranks, I am certain.”

 

The Major was scowling and peering into the darkness behind Ren, watching for his soldiers to emerge. Scant few did. A handful of the eighty men he'd been traveling with. Most of them injured to various degree, supporting each other as they reported back to their commander. When his attention returned to Ren, the man was gone. As he was gathering reports from the survivors, there was a scream from the surrounding trees. Moments later, Ren returned, flicking still wet blood from his blade. His eyes met the Major's, but the mask and darkness obscured his expression, and the Hessian said nothing, though it was clear he'd gone back to make sure none of the rebels had survived.

 

How was Hux supposed to take ownership of a town, fortify it from rebels, with most of his men gone? There would be a weak spot in their trade route if he didn't. _He_ would be a weak link. Dropping what composure he had left, Hux swore and cursed the rebels, lamenting that he had not been able to kill any himself. They would have to stop their march, too. Move some paces beyond the dead and camp while injuries were tended to. Ren watched the fury flicker along the Major's face with some amusement, and wiped blood from his sword before slipping it into its sheath.

 

“Are the traitors all dead?” he demanded of the mercenary. Ren snorted, loudly; as if he'd leave any of them alive.

 

“ _Dummkopf_. What do you take me for?”

 

Hux rolled his eyes and turned his attention to his men. “Find a suitable place to rest up ahead. We will tend to injuries there. Is Dopheld still with us?” A murmur went through the remaining soldiers, eventually coming up with a negative response; the man was dead. Hux sighed heavily; his servant was gone. That meant he would be attending to the minutiae of his uniform, horse, and gear on his own from now on. He had also meant to send the man to look for other survivors who were not fortunate enough to get onto their feet on their own. He ordered another soldier who lacked obvious injury to the task instead. The man returned five minutes later with an unconscious soldier draped over his back. It was all he could find.

 

“We'll come back when the sun rises to gather up ammunition and relateds. For now we will rest and take care of our injuries. Ren.” He turned to the Hessian with a sharp command. “Scout the area for any more rebels. There will not be another ambush.” The mercenary nodded and disappeared into the darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bastarde - Bastards  
> Dummkopf - fool, idiot


	3. Chapter 3

They made camp about a quarter mile up the forest path, a narrow river quietly winding nearby. When sunlight finally filtered down through the trees, the capable soldiers traveled back to the ambush location and gathered what they could – ammunition, weapons, identification, personal effects to be sent back across the sea. They dragged their fellows off the path proper, giving them what respects they could before returning to the temporary camp.

 

Major Hux looked over his men, evaluated injuries. One more had died during the night from his wounds. And someone was missing – the Hessian. The fact that his effects were also missing meant little, since the man never left anything behind, even for a private break away. Though it did concern him that the man was missing without orders, and not simply keeping his distance from the British soldiers as usual. After some inquiries, one of his men thought they'd seen the black clothed figure go in the direction of the river. Hux headed that direction.

 

A low voice singing in German greeted him as he stepped through the trees to the river's bank. Followed by the sight of the large Hessian waist deep in the water, and, presumably, nude. Certainly the bulk of his clothing was laid out along the grass, drying. Apparently the man had taken time to wash the gore off his uniform, and was now washing it off his body.

 

Hux stopped short at the sight, mouth open to call out, voice stuck in his throat. The man was solid muscle, and in the morning sunlight he could see the gleam of scars on pale skin. There was no way the man hadn't heard him approach, boots crunching on river gravel, but he did not acknowledge the Major's presence. So Hux simply stared, watching water sluice off muscle, dark hair plastered to a thick neck and wide shoulders. Longer than he'd thought it would be. He couldn't see the Hessian's face, but that didn't stop the heat building under his collar. Shame for catching the man so indisposed, obviously. He could even see the turn of muscle above the man's buttocks as he bent to scoop up a handful of water.

 

So Hux turned his head away and politely cleared his throat. The singing gave way to a chuckle. “Caught a cold?”

 

Hux snorted and straightened his posture, though he refused to look the Hessian's way. “Next time you wander off from camp this way, I advise you to let me know so you are not left behind.”

 

Ren laughed again, louder this time. “Leave me? You are alive because of me.” He strode forward out of the river, with no mind to his undressed state, much to Hux's embarrassment, who caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.

 

“That _is_ what I am paying you for. Get dressed. We are packing up.” Sparing one last quick glance Ren's direction, he turned and marched back to his men, leaving Ren laughing behind him and speaking something, likely insulting, in German as he gathered up his clothes.

 


	4. Chapter 4

He was lucky. Even with just twenty-five men, and half of them injured, he was able to enter his assigned town and take root. Despite the ambush in the forest, his arrival had been a surprise, and the town's citizens had let them enter without much fuss. There were clearly, thankfully, loyalists here. Securing the town as a cog in a trade route was a different story, so was keeping it within British control. He couldn't do that with twenty-five men.

 

So he was down to twenty-three – minus two able bodies sent back north with a report and request for aid. And there was the Hessian, of course. His bizarre appearance did much to intimidate the townsfolk. The magistrate didn't like him, and complained about how he unsettled everyone, so Hux made sure he stuck to the outskirts. Or at least changed into something less conspicuous if he wanted to come into town.

 

They'd been there almost a week, and taken over the town's inn and the larger homes to house his men and set up a governing station. Ren mostly stayed out of the way, as ordered, but he was not idle. He continued his duties, as guard and spy. Hux nearly walked right into one of his interrogations on the dark side of the inn as he was returning to his room at the magistrate's house.

 

The Hessian had a body pressed up against the outer wall, one long leg pressed between the victim's, hands squeezing the other's waist.... There was a moan from the “victim,” and Hux squinted his eyes, finally noticing the disarray of clothing on both figures, but particularly of the man pressed against the wall. Hux cleared his throat, loudly, interrupting the affair. The stranger yelped in surprise, pushed at Ren, and struggled with his clothing as he ran off. Ren gave a sigh, shoving a hand back through loose hair as he turned his attention to the Major, then adjusted the closures of his pants.

 

“I didn't know Hessians' interests lay in that fashion,” the Major sneered, though he himself was flushing under the collar of his shirt, eyes drawn to every movement of the Hessian's long fingers.

 

“Men know more things worth spilling,” Ren said with a smirk, buttoning his vest.

 

Hux turned his gaze away and scowled. “You could be hanged for this.”

 

“ _Ja._ If someone told. He won't.” His smirk grew as he moved toward Hux. “And neither will you. He would be hanged, too. And you would have to explain how you found out.”

 

The Major's face flushed at that truth, and he knew he wouldn't say a word. Even confident that his word would be believed over the mercenary's, there was no telling what the other man would say to save his own skin. His reputation could remain in question despite the outcome. And there was an odd glint in those dark eyes.

 

“I have seen you watching. At the river. Around town.” The mercenary continued smirking as he moved in closer. “Are you really here now by accident?”

 

Hux pressed his lips together firmly, swallowing down the urge to protest too quickly, to let his embarrassment show. “.... I was heading home. It was pure accident that I happened upon your disturbing rendezvous, I assure you.”

 

He held his ground as Ren moved in and stopped inches away, boots toe-to-toe. “Are you sure you do not want a.... Disturbing rendezvous?” The repeated phrase sounded ridiculous with his accent, but he didn't seem to care. “A little _Frevel_ would do you good, Major.” Hux didn't know the word, but he understood its intent. Ren was smirking and practically purring, and he'd brought up a hand to pop open the top button of Hux's vest.

 

Finally grabbing hold of his senses, Hux batted the hand away roughly and took a step back, scowling at the other man. “Get back to your quarters,” he snapped. “Whatever barn you are rolling around in.”

 

Laughter fell from the Hessian's lips, mocking, and almost haunting in its musicality. It sent a shiver up Hux's spine, and he was grateful for the thick layers his uniform provided. The man gave him a wave and sauntered off into the darkness, leaving Hux to silently curse his rapid heartbeat as he continued on to his borrowed home.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

There wouldn't be any reinforcements. They held the town, and resources were stretched thin. If they needed assistance, they would have to send word to the next town over in the moment. Hux swore as he crumpled up the letter in his hands and threw it across the room, just missing the man who had brought it to him.

 

“What did they say about the ambush?” he demanded, slapping a leather-bound notebook onto his desk.

 

“That they are aware of a spy network, sir, and are already attempting to dig it out and take it apart. Major John André is said to be working hard to root out any hidden offenders, sir.”

 

Hux nodded his head; André did good work, though he was jealous of the lifestyle the man was able to maintain. Word was he'd taken up residence in Ben Franklin's home in Philadelphia; quite an honor to be offered the house of such a prominent traitor. The news was still frustrating, however, and he dismissed the soldier quickly. Opening the notebook, he dipped a quill and noted the acceptance of the letter and its contents. Then he put his elbows on the desk and dropped his head into his palms.

 

The peace in the town was delicate; his soldiers had been accepted but were not entirely welcome. There were grumblings about giving up space within homes to house soldiers, though thankfully the strain on food stores was not what it would have been had his entire unit made the journey. Trade should be picking up soon, he hoped. The problem was fortifications. If the rebels decided they wanted this town in their hands, he couldn't hold them off with so few men, not for long. Perhaps long enough for reinforcements from the nearest town, assuming the attack came entirely from outside the town and not within. And he knew it was statistically impossible for everyone in the town to be loyalists.

 

Ren had already rooted one out for him. A farmer with rebel sympathies whose crops now belonged to the Crown, while their previous owner would soon be rotting on a prison ship. The wife and son were obviously not thrilled to have him sent away, nor with the attainder on their property, and would need to be watched closely. All the flowery words in the world would not comfort them, and he knew the son in particular would likely become a problem in the near future. That was the way of these things, but he was satisfied in the farmer's punishment. There was proof he was sympathetic, but not outright treasonous in action, so he hadn't been put to death. Though if the son caused problems, there might be a hanging after all.

 

The Hessian was thriving, somehow. He mostly caught his own food in the surrounding forests. And he didn't shy away from the alcohol served in the town's tavern. Mostly he behaved, so Hux let him do as he pleased, and kept paying him for his loyalty. Unfortunately he had caught the man in flagrante delicto several times now, and mostly with men. Though the farmer, he knew, had been found out via Ren's dalliances with the wife. It was a wonder the man's throat had yet to be slit. He knew John André used sex, alcohol, and honeyed words in his work. And while Hux admired the man, he could not bring himself to wallow in such debauchery. Not to mention his personal tastes required a trusted partner; he didn't have the carelessness of the Hessian. The man didn't seem to fear anything, and he didn't have the burden of rank, besides.

 

Hux let out a heavy sigh. He needed a walk. Fresh air. Perhaps a ride. What he did not need was to walk through town and past the blacksmith's, where Ren was repairing his blade in britches and a white undershirt, sleeves rolled up above his elbows. Sweat glistened everywhere and dampened the loose ponytail that held his dark hair out of the way of his work. Muscles rippled with each hammer strike against the steel. While Hux was stopped in his tracks, staring, the Hessian stood up and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm. Then his head turned, a smirk on his face as he locked eyes with Hux.

 

“Major. Need something? Or are you admiring the view. Again.” Even through the heavy accent Hux could hear the taunting lilt. He scowled, adjusting his coat.

 

“Don't I pay you enough to have the blacksmith tend to that for you?”

 

“ _Ja_.” Ren turned to examine his blade, checking the length for any further nicks and signs of wear. “But I only trust myself to work on her.” He began putting tools back in their proper places. “Did you need something?”

 

“All I require from you is that you do your job. Which you have been doing. So, no. I do not need anything at present.” He paused, searching for something to distract himself, and the Hessian. “Ah. There is a wedding tomorrow. Do try not to sleep with the bride. And keep an eye open for any trouble. With emotions high and drink bountiful, it's a good opportunity for chaos.”

 

The Hessian shrugged, slipping on his vest, and then draped his coat over his arm. “It is a happy time. You worry too much.” He slid his sword into its sheath and rolled broad, sweaty shoulders. “Have you thought about what I said?”

 

Hux blinked, confusion written across his face. “What? When?”

 

Ren smirked, stepping out from under the blacksmith's awning and closing in on Hux. “ _Der Frevel_ ,” he murmured, a wolfish grin splitting his face as he leaned near to the Major's ear. “It would help you relax.”

 

Red bloomed in the Major's face and up to his ears, and he immediately stepped back, putting a more comfortable distance between them. He knew what the word meant now – something sinful. He'd asked a towns person of German descent. They'd blinked wide eyes at him, but explained the term. In a religious context. He was fairly certain the Hessian didn't mean it in that way. He wanted a drink.

 

The Hessian sighed dramatically. “You are not much fun, you know. So... _langweilig_.”

 

“I am not here to be fun. I am here to bring order to this town and prepare it for trade with other loyalist territories.” Hux straightened, looking every bit the perfect British officer, except for the too-gradually fading flush in his face.

 

“Of course.” Large shoulders shrugged again, but the irritating smirk didn't fade.

 

“Also, I am engaged to be married,” the Major blurted out. Both men blinked in surprise at the sudden statement. Hux rushed to elaborate. “In England. A fine woman of my father's choosing. Whom I am to marry when the war is over.”

 

Ren studied the Major a moment, head slightly tilted. “Why tell me that? It means nothing.” He shrugged his shoulders, smirk returning. “This is a, ah... _einspruch_. Against something you want, _ja_?”

 

“I want nothing from you, Hessian, other than what I pay you to do.”

 

The Hessian's teeth flashed in a grin. “Well, if you want to....”

 

Anger flashed in the Major's eyes. “Of all the-.... You impertinent-....” His fist gripped the hilt of his sword, then he spun on his heels and stalked away, leaving Ren chuckling in his wake.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Langweilig - Boring, tedious  
> Einspruch - objection (he means against Hux's will, or something Hux didn't agree to)  
> Major John André was highly charismatic, loved even by the Americans. He was a talented officer, and orchestrated the betrayal of Benedict Arnold. Before the British retreated back to New York, he lived in Ben Franklin's house in Philadelphia. When they left, he stole a few artifacts from the house (he was a big fan).


	6. Chapter 6

The wedding went smoothly. Bride and groom were joined, the town's spirits were lifted, and the celebration lasted long into the night. Citizen and soldier alike ate and drank together, for one evening the tension of occupation forgotten. Even Major Brendol Hux II partook in the festivities, imbibing several mugs of ale through the evening. He gifted the wedding with a large, succulent hog, providing even more good will. There was little trouble at all, and certainly none of the kind he'd warned Kylo Ren to keep an eye open for.

 

The Hessian was so infuriating. He did as he pleased, fucked who he pleased, probably debauched the entire town. Hux scowled into an empty mug, then set it down, on his second try, on a table. Where _was_ the Hessian? He'd been notably absent throughout the day, but then, he always tended to keep to himself. Hux really wanted to have a talk with him about his behavior. And about some of his insinuations. And his smug face. And broad back, powerful shoulders, large hands....

 

Despite his obviously inebriated state, Hux's uniform was in perfect presentation when he arrived at the barn on the outskirts of town where Ren made his camp. Even his hat was on straight. But his cheeks were flushed almost as red as his coat. He pounded on the barn's door, shouting “bloody mercenary” and demanding entrance.

 

Ren answered in pants and a shirt, brow raised in surprise, and perhaps some amusement. “It is late. Middle of night. What are you doing here, Major?”

 

Hux bowled past the man and into the warm, dim light of the barn. His speech was slightly slurred, but he spoke like he was ordering his men. “I am tired of your imper-...impertinence. The way you conduct yourself. It is unseemly. You may be a lowly mercenary, but you work for His Majesty's army! You will cease pricking yourself into everything that moves!”

 

Shutting the door behind him, Ren watched the Major with arms crossed over his chest, his initial amusement fading. “I told you, I work for you. Not your king. And I will do what I want. I am not like your _verkniffen_ soldiers.”

 

The Major whirled, nearly losing his balance in the process, and pointed a finger at the Hessian. “You will not! You will obey me. You belong to me!”

 

Dark eyebrows rose, the eyes beneath them widening, as well. “Do I?” Ren's expression shifted, amusement flickering through over a smug grin. “I told you, I will do whatever you pay me for.” He walked forward, and reached for the Major's vest, toying with silver buttons. “I'll do it for free, too. But you can pay me, if it helps.”

 

Hux stood frozen in place, eyes wide. And remained frozen even as Ren leaned forward, lips dangerously close. Hux licked his lips, hands clenching at his sides as he fought with a hazy mind. Ren locked eyes with him, then suddenly pulled back, waving a hand in front of his face as if to fan away a supreme stench.

 

“You have had an entire _fässchen_. You stink.”

 

Hux blinked in surprise, stunned by the other man pulling away so quickly. “I...what?”

 

“Alcohol. Ale. You are full of it. Go home and sleep.”

 

“I do not want to go home.” Petulant now, like a child denied a toy he desperately wanted.

 

Ren rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. “Still. Sleep. I do not like partners who cannot think.”

 

Hux huffed, stomped around the barn, swayed, and leaned up against a support beam. Then he sank down to the ground and sprawled in a rather undignified manner. “I am not hiking all the way back home in the middle of the night. I will stay here until I am not full of ale.”

 

The Hessian shook his head in disbelief, but he chuckled under his breath. The Major was bellowing absurdities, but he was flushed in a delightful way that Ren rather liked. He'd like to see him flushed in another way, were he not too drunk to properly think through his decisions. A moment later, and Hux was nodding off, so Ren hauled over a blanket and draped it over the man. He even removed the cocked hat and set it carefully aside. Hopefully the man would not vomit all over himself in his sleep, but at least he was upright. Ren went to the cot he had set up against a wall to get some rest himself.

 

The Hessian woke first in the morning, and went outside to boil water for a pot of coffee, which he was certain the Major would need. When he came back inside, a pot of hot water in hand, the Major was staring at him with wide, blood-shot eyes. Ren ignored him at first, preparing two mugs and making them strong, then squatted down in front of Hux and handed him one. The British man scowled at the dark liquid.

 

“Don't you have any tea?”

 

“No.”

 

Hux huffed and took a sip, making a face of disgust. Then he locked eyes with the Hessian, becoming serious. “What happened?”

 

“What happened? What do you mean?” Ren sat cross-legged across from the Major, shirtless and pale-skinned, sipping at his coffee.

 

Hux stared, pointedly not looking at the man's bare chest. Decidedly not noticing the dark moles and beauty marks scattered across it. “Last night. Here. With you.”

 

Ren laughed, and reached out to tug at Hux's overcoat. “You are fully dressed, but you ask that?”

 

To Ren's surprise, Hux grew red in the face, _indignant_ , and huffed irritably. “So your interest only lies with spies and traitors, then?”

 

The Hessian sighed and shook his head. “My interest lies with the coherent.”

 

“Well, I'm coherent now.” The words left his mouth before he realized what he was saying, and Hux looked appalled by his traitorous vocal chords.

 

Until Ren answered with a simple, “...Yes.”

 

Hux blinked, mouth working silently, as Ren first set aside his mug, then took the Major's mug and set it aside, as well. Then the Hessian shifted forward, and the first thing he reached for was the white wig that always sat on the Major's head. He peeled it off with care and set it gingerly aside. Then looked at Hux with surprise. “Ah. Your hair. It is... red.” He'd never seen a British man with such hair color before, though admittedly he rarely saw any without their wigs on.

 

Hux grumbled, this time letting his eyes drift down. “My mother is of Irish descent.”

 

The Hessian shrugged, finding the information unimportant, and began pushing open the heavy red coat. “Help would be nice.”

 

Grumbling again, Hux shifted and wiggled out of the coat, then folded it carefully and set it aside. Then he began opening the silver buttons of his vest, but Ren stopped him. “I will do that.”

 

“You said to help you,” he continued to grumble, and Ren let out a low laugh.

 

“Do not act so _verärgert._ Unless you do not want to...?”

 

“I want to.” He answered far too quickly, and it made him blush again. “But I can take off my own clothes.” Giving Ren a shove so the other man would move out of his way, Hux stood and began to disrobe. Tie, sash, vest, undershirt. It took a bit of time to remove everything, and Hux took care with each article, making a neat pile. Even his boots were carefully placed next to his clothing. Ren sat and watched, a small smirk curling his lips, until Hux stood before him in a pair of long johns, that hid little. The Major remained standing, towering over him, studying and considering. Then he glanced around the little barn, eyes lingering over rows of storage crates. He pointed toward them. “Over there. Bend over them.”

 

Dark brows raised high, Ren looked on the Major with genuine surprise. “What?”

 

“You heard me.” It was an obvious order, even though the words contained a tremble of nerves. Grinning widely, surprised but not disappointed, Ren rose to his feet and quickly obeyed.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verkniffen - uptight (he's basically saying the British soldiers have sticks up their asses)  
> Fässchen - keg, cask  
> Verärgert - cross, vexed, annoyed (essentially "you protest too much")


	7. Chapter 7

Five months since they'd settled into the town. One week since the morning after the wedding, when Hux had exhausted himself against Ren's body. Four days since the Major had nearly punched the Hessian in the face for a serious invasion of personal space in the tavern in front of a roomful of people. Three and a half days since he'd punished his mercenary by binding his wrists to a support post in the barn and fucking him until he could no longer stand on his own. Two days since he told himself he wouldn't do it again. One day since Ren had climbed into his second story bedroom and sucked him off beneath his desk while servants passed back and forth by his open door. Seven hours after dinner, in the middle of the night, was when the rebels attacked the town.

 

Gunshots woke him, followed immediately by a pounding on his door. Hux was instantly on his feet, grabbing for clothing. He threw on his vest, and quickly yanked on his breeches. Pulled open the door to see one of the soldiers that guarded the house at night.

 

“S-sir. The rebels. They came in through the forest, behind the farms-”

 

Hux interrupted as he sat down in a chair to tug on his boots. “And? What's happening? How many are there?”

 

“I don't know, sir. It's difficult to get an accurate count in the dark. And most of the men were sleeping....”

 

The Major went very pale as sweat broke out on his brow. But he clenched his jaw, stood, and grabbed his coat. “Protect the house as best you can-” A stone flew through his window and the Major jumped back in surprise. “What in the bloody.... Where is the Hessian?” The reporting officer could only shrug, panicked eyes darting toward the windows in search of further attacks. “Well, get down there before they burn the house to the ground!” Hux roared, grabbing his pistol, rifle, and sword.

 

He needed to rally his men. Send a messenger to the closest town for support. As he ran out of the house, he could hear the screams of his men, surprised from their sleep by bullet and blade. He ran around the side of the house and found nothing. Who had thrown the rock through his window? A quick glance around showed no one was near the house at all. Bewildered, he shook his head, then made a run for the inn, which was easily defensible on higher ground. The town was in chaos, but he saw other soldiers heading in the same direction as himself, what few were remaining. How had this even happened?

 

This wasn't a haphazard attack, either. Chaotic, yes, but targeted. As if someone knew exactly where his men slept, when most of them would be tucked into bed, and how best to approach the town at night. Fifteen men, including himself, gathered at the inn. He immediately ordered defensive positions, then sent one man off on horseback to the nearest town to the north with a request for aid. A low stone fence provided some measure of cover, and some of his men were rolling canons out of the inn's stables and into position. They could hold through the night. There was still no sign of the Hessian, though at least one of his men had mentioned narrowly escaping an assailant with no knowledge as to how.

 

It grew quiet outside, an occasional rifle fired on one side to test the other. The British soldiers were hunkered down to wait for reinforcements. Tense hours passed, but no reinforcements came, despite affirmation from the returned messenger. When the sun rose, and they could properly see, they would likely have to defeat their attackers on their own.

 

They never got the chance. As the sun began to bring color to the dark sky, a great commotion rose from somewhere in the inn. A servant burst into the main room, eyes wide, babbling and pointing behind them. Moments later, a mob emerged. They'd come up through the cellar. How had they even known? And these weren't rebel soldiers; at least not all of them. He saw tattered blues, but also plain clothes. And one very familiar face. The farmer's son.

 

His startled men did their best, but they were killed around him, which left only the ones stationed outside. Hux darted for the front door, but a knife flew through the air and impaled the back of his right thigh. He fell with a yell of pain, echoed by yelling from outside, canon fire, muskets. It wasn't enough, and as he was grabbed with rough hands, arms and wrists bound with coarse rope, he heard silence fall. His men were dead, and he was in the hands of rebels who were not bound by the ethical codes of the military.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

The mysteries around the surprise attack became abundantly clear very quickly. Harris, the farmer's son, had been busy. There was a small contingent of actual soldiers in the group, some whose service had ended with the start of the new year. That explained the uniforms. Others were relatives of dead soldiers, angry and bitter, while others had been rounded up from neighboring farms. And when he finally had time to really look, he realized Harris was not the only citizen from his town.

 

They'd slung him over a stolen horse, since he was in too much pain from the wound in his thigh to walk. Though they'd certainly tried to make him. The attack had been pure vengeance. He wanted to listen more, but jostled as he was by the horse's movements, the pain in his leg was addling his mind. They'd done nothing to stop the bleeding, either, and Hux soon passed out.

 

When he woke, he'd been stripped of coat and vest, the outer garments that spoke of his position, loyalty, and rank. Some filthy rag had been tied around his thigh. He was in the dark. A shed, maybe? Drafty; he shivered from the cold, but his arms were still bound behind him and he couldn't do much to warm himself. There was a little light seeping in through the cracks of the building's wood, but he couldn't tell if they were from a fire or the sun. Until the door open and the sunlight blinded him.

 

Two men and Harris entered, one carrying a lantern that proved useful when they shut the door behind them. Hux was adjusting to the rapidly changing lighting, but he could hear their footsteps gathering around him.

 

“So, he killed your dad, huh?”

“Yes.”

 

Hux blinked up in surprise; he hadn't killed Harris's father. “You know I sent him to-” He cut off with a pained grunt as he was kicked in his injured leg.

 

“He _died_ on the prison ship, you bastard,” Harris spat, his rage causing one of the other men to laugh darkly.

 

“We'll make him pay, don't worry.”

 

There was more pain after that. Perhaps that's all they wanted him for. Vengeance through his pain, and likely his imminent death. Not the way Hux wanted to go, but he couldn't do anything about it for the time being. Only survive as long as he could, and hope the reinforcements finally arrived and came after him.

 

Night fell, or so he assumed by the silence that only came with night's darkness. His captors did not seem worried about retaliation. Treating an officer of His Majesty's military this way was entirely unacceptable, even for whatever rabble had captured him. He'd not been fed, nor given drink, nor medical attention aside from the rag. His arms and wrists remained bound, and he did his best to maintain feeling in them by shifting about. Which only made him hurt all over; he wasn't certain if anything was broken, but he was most definitely severely bruised in several areas. And possibly his nose; he'd heard _that_ crack, and blood was crusted all over the lower half of his face.

 

Surely they hadn't traveled overly far; where was his rescue? He was freezing, and going in and out of consciousness, when the door opened and a terrified Harris stumbled in, clutching a lantern in one hand and a pistol in the other. “Th-there's a...monster....” he began, voice high-pitched. Then his eyes landed on Hux and he rushed over, yanking the Major painfully to his feet.

 

Hux grit his teeth, breathing hard, and tried to focus against the pain. There was yelling outside, and as each voice was silenced, the remaining rose in terrified pitch. Until there was yelling right outside the door, followed quickly by a gunshot, and a thump as something fell against the slat of wood. Harris was shaking, an iron grip around Hux's bruised ribcage, his other hand clenching around his pistol.

 

“John!” he called out, presumably to whoever was guarding the door. The only answer was another thumping sound outside, and then the door creaked open.

 

A monster in black and dark red filled the doorway, outlined by the lamp Harris had placed on the floor. The cold metal of a pistol's barrel pressed to Hux's temple, and Harris was babbling something in a frightened voice. But Hux was focused on the figure in the doorway, gaze glued to what must be a hallucination. An instant later, something whizzed through the air, and Harris let out a gurgled yell as a blade embedded into his throat. He went down, taking Hux with him.

 

Hux swore loudly as he fell, Harris landing on his injured leg, and fought to stay conscious as his vision darkened. The weight on him was quickly removed; the body thrown off and thumping into the opposite wall. Then there were careful hands on him, assessing, gently turning him to cut away rope.

 

“What...?” Hux croaked out, unable to complete the myriad of questions he wanted to ask. He was shushed, and hands were soon examining his leg.

 

“ _Bastarde_ ,” Ren hissed, removing the filthy rag to get a better look at the Major's injury. “Come on.” He slid his hands beneath Hux's shoulders and helped the man to his feet, then quickly moved in to support his right side. The Hessian moved them both out of the shed and into a makeshift camp scattered around someone's farm. Red led him into the property's house, past dead bodies on the lawn, and two inside the main room of the building. There were no red coats to be seen anywhere.

 

“....The reinforcements...where...?”

 

Ren grunted as he shifted and helped Hux into a chair near the hearth, embers struggling to stay hot. He grabbed some wood nearby and tossed it in, prodding the fire back to life. “There are none.”

 

“What?”

 

“They did not come.” With the fire providing light and warmth, Ren began his work. He cut the right leg off Hux's trousers with a hunting knife; they were matted with blood and dirty so he saw no reason to preserve them. Hux was too bewildered to care.

 

“What do you mean, they did not come? They stayed at the town?”

 

Ren snorted, pulling off his mask and setting it on a table, followed by his pistol and sword. Then he took the knife in hand once more, and heated it over the fire. “I mean they did not come. Stand up and lean forward against the chair.”

 

Hux merely blinked at the other man at first, but eventually realized what he intended. With pained grunts, he hefted himself up and turned around, then leaned forward, supporting his weight by placing his hands on the top of the back of the chair. Ren made a sound of approval, then knelt down behind him.

 

The Major hissed as Ren cut off withered flesh and drained out puss, hands clenching the top of the wooden chair. “I don't...understand.... The messenger...said....”

 

Sighing heavily, Ren looked up at the other man, something like pity in his gaze. “Then he lied. Or they lied. But no one came.”

 

Shocked by this information, Hux fell silent, and let Ren tend to his wound with no further questions. When he was done, the Hessian helped Hux back into the chair, then moved toward the door.

 

“Where are you going?” There was panic in Hux's tone, and Ren turned to look at him with a frown.

 

“Your horse. It's tied in the trees. I grabbed it and what basic supplies I could. I did not know what your condition would be. I will clean you up properly when I get back.”

 

“Oh....” Green eyes held dark brown intensely, fearful of being left alone, but he clenched his jaw and gave a nod of his head. “I'll...be here.”

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Two days later, Hux was walking with the aid of a staff Ren had quickly carved for him. The Hessian was exhausted, having spent the last three and more days tracking Hux, killing his captors, caring for Hux, scouting the area, and keeping alert for any further trouble. No one had come looking for them, on either side. The Major was equal parts frustrated and disheartened. He was, effectively, missing in action, and it appeared no one was looking for him. Never mind that the reinforcements he had requested had never come, and someone had lied to him along the way in that regard, clearly. All reports from Ren were that no one had come anywhere near the farmland.

 

By the third morning, Hux was seated on the small porch, watching Ren's figure emerge from the growing light after another night of scouting. “Enough,” he ordered, quiet and dismayed. “No one is coming.”

 

Dark, blood-shot eyes stared out from the black mask. “What?”

 

“No one is coming. Clearly. And you are exhausted. We're safe, for whatever that is worth. And you need rest. We cannot continue to stay here, but you need to sleep before we go anywhere.”

 

Ren climbed the two steps to the landing with heavy feet. “Where will we go?”

 

Hux considered a moment. “North. To find the truth about my request to Major Tarkin.”

 

Ren nodded and leaned up against the door frame. “Do you need help? Breakfast? Your wrapping changed?”

 

The Major pushed himself up onto his feet with the aid of his staff. “Let's go inside.”

 

Nodding, Ren trudged through the doorway and headed toward the bedroom. A hand on his shoulder made him halt and turn his head to look at the Major. One hand supported his weight on his staff, but the other lifted the Hessian's mask away and set it on the nearby kitchen table. He then turned Ren to face him, and began fussing with the man's armor. Ren blinked in confusion, gently taking hold of Hux's wrist. “What are you doing?”

 

Hux froze, body and voice momentarily locking up. He was obviously attempting to undress the man. He hadn't given it much thought otherwise. He wanted to see Ren, the pale skin covering hardened muscle, muscle that flexed and trembled when he fucked the other man. Muscle that protected him, time and again, had killed for him. True, he paid Ren for those things, except there was no promise of payment for this. Hux had lost his post, was clearly disgraced. But Ren had come for him, taken care of him, and stayed with him. It was rather above and beyond what was required of the Hessian.

 

He cleared his throat, pulling his arm away and continuing to undress the Hessian to the best of his ability with one hand. “Be quiet,” he murmured, “and let me take care of you, for a change. Before you collapse from exhaustion and are no good to me at all.”

 

Ren snorted softly, but assisted the other man with the removal of his armor, at the very least. Once that was set aside, he took the Major's waist in his hands, offering support so he could make use of both his hands to undo buttons and push aside fabric. Once enough skin was revealed, Hux pressed his lips to it, soft, but joined by nips and flicks of his tongue. Ren let out a groan, hands tightening on the other man's waist. “The bed...Major....”

 

Hux sighed and pulled away, nodding, then gestured for him to lead the way. A smirk curled full lips as the Hessian turned away and began peeling off his clothing, letting it fall to the floor in his wake. Hux hobbled after, leaving his cane in a corner before sitting on the bed. “Lie down,” he spoke softly, but the order was clear, and the Hessian obeyed, grin on his face.

 

Green eyes traveled down the naked expanse of Ren's flesh, pale and mole-flecked. He did not remove any garments himself aside from his boots, leaving on his trousers and undershirt. Ren cocked a curious eyebrow, expectant, but not expecting the Major to situate himself low between his muscular thighs, and lean his head down over his now twitching cock. The Major was almost submissive, and it startled Ren at first, with how unlike the man it was. Until fingers pressed hard and bruising into his hips, and a tongue teased up along his length. He might be doing this _for_ Ren, but the Major was clearly going to indulge himself along the way.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Ren slept rather soundly throughout the day. Hux busied himself cleaning and airing out the Hessian's clothing and armor, though he wasn't able to do much more than swirl the clothing around in some cold water. Bruised ribs and sore muscles made anything strenuous currently impossible. He changed the dressing on his thigh, then dozed in the bed next to Ren. And apparently fell asleep. Ren was up and gone when he awoke, leaving behind a lit lamp and some food.

 

He'd just finished eating when Ren pushed open the door. The man pulled the mask off his face, then tossed a cylindrical tube, damp with blood, onto the table. Hux blinked up in surprise, noting the scowl on the other man's face. “What's that?”

 

“Someone finally sent a messenger. Here. Looking for Harris. Dead now. I cannot read your language, but the case is fine leather. It is not from some lowly villager.”

 

Hux raised a brow, pushed aside his now empty plate, and picked up the tube carefully. He spread the contents out on the table. Two pages that he scanned over with a frown. “This doesn't....” He swore softly. “It's back at the magistrate's house.” He let out a sigh and shoved the letter away. “Dammit....”

 

“What?” Ren peered over the table, eying the papers.

 

“It's coded. Well, I mean, it's nonsense. Asking after the family, the crop, which is absurd from a man of this rank. But I can't read it without a code page. Which I did not exactly pack with me when I left.” He sighed again, annoyed, and pushed a hand back through his hair. The fingers froze halfway across his scalp. “But that means there's one _here_. One of them had it. Ren. It should be a.... A thick piece of leather or parchment, with holes cut in random places.”

 

The Hessian nodded, and spent the next two hours tearing the house apart, with Hux helping by prodding around at bricks and floorboards. Eventually, Ren found what they were looking for sewn into a worn chair cushion. Hux placed it on the letter and immediately set to deciphering its true message, explaining the process to a curious Ren.

 

“.... There it is. Have—you—done—it—yet. I—gave—him—to—you—expecting—to—finish—him. Report—immediately—when—it—is—done.” It was signed by Major Tarkin. The officer in charge of the town to the north. The same officer he'd requested aid from when the rebels had attacked, been told was coming, but had obviously been denied. Hux's face paled, and he read the letter several more times, making sure he'd placed the code segments properly. It was the only reading that made sense. He continued reading it, mumbling the words to himself, falling into a sort of trance.

 

A solid, heavy hand on his shoulder stirred him from his thoughts. “Major...?” There was concern in the Hessian's voice, but Hux didn't look up.

 

“It's.... He...did it on purpose. He wants me dead, he....” Shock turned into anger as Hux's brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. “I am going to cut open his stomach, pull out his intestines, and strangle him with them,” he hissed, the dark rage causing Ren to raise a brow in surprise. He'd never thought the Major to be cruel or sadistic; this was something new. And it spoke to the primal side of him that lurked in literal darkness as he bloodied his cutlass on the Major's enemies. His hand squeezed the other man's shoulder.

 

“You want him dead? You want him to suffer? I will do this.”

 

Hux's head snapped around and up, eyes narrow and dark. “No. I'm going to do it. I want him to see me do it. I will not be made a fool of. I-” He cut off suddenly with a few rapid blinks. This wasn't like him. And this was very much against military codes of conduct. He should gather evidence, present it to the generals, take Tarkin to trial.... But he didn't want to. Noting the conflict on the Major's face, Ren leaned down to murmur in his ear.

 

“So do it.” Fingers dug into muscle, and lips pulled back from teeth as Ren spoke words of sweet vengeance, like a courting devil. “I will get him away. Alone. I will bind him for you. Like a present. We will take him where no one will hear him scream. You can use my knife and peel him open. Make him suffer, _Brendol_.” He purred the man's name, breath warm against ear and neck, and Hux shivered, but was otherwise still and entranced.

 

“....Yes.” Finally, Hux nodded, slowly, a twisted grin pulling at his own lips. “That sounds perfect.”

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Ren was quick. Hux had been waiting in the dark woods for only two hours when the Hessian appeared, a bound and gagged Tarkin slung unconscious over his shoulder. He had recovered his vest and jacket, and though he didn't look as pristine as he was used to, he stood as proud as his injured leg would allow. Tarkin was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, which woke the man, who groaned painfully as he attempted to gain his bearing. But before Hux could deal with him, Ren placed a hand on his arm. “Before he came up to his room, I looked around. Found some letters. Want to read them first?”

 

The gaze that had been glued to Tarkin shifted to Ren in confusion. “Letters?” He blinked a few times, blood lust momentarily fading. “Ah. Yes. Light the lantern, would you?”

 

Ren pulled the papers from his vest and handed them over before going to light the small lantern they had hung from a tree. Under its light, Hux flipped through the documents, scanning the names of authors and recipients. And froze at the sight of one intimately familiar. His father. But it was addressed to him, not Major Tarkin. With great care, he read the letter. Then read it again, lips moving silently with the written words. The third time, Ren moved in with a frown. “What is it?”

 

At first, Hux didn't answer, struck silent by the letter's contents. Then he spoke with a voice full of disbelief. “It's my father. He.... He writes about the ambush. The loss of the town.” His brow furrowed. “He's here, in the colonies. He's angry. Disappointed. He has...called off my marriage. I think he...I think he's _disowning me_.” His arm fell to his side, the documents slipping from his fingers and falling to the grassy ground. A muffled, pained chuckle drifted up from the ground, gaining Hux's attention. He stared, wide eyed, down at Tarkin, then held out a hand. “Your knife.”

 

Ren glanced between the two men, then drew his hunting knife and placed the hilt into Hux's hand. “You are sure about this?” His false concern was belied by a grin pulling up his mouth.

 

The skin around Hux's left eye twitched, and his lips broke into a sneer. “Absolutely. Now hold him up, since it is his fault I cannot crawl down to his level.” Ren moved quickly, yanking Tarkin up by his bound arms, then stepped behind him, supporting the man with an arm around his neck and a firm grip on one bicep. The lamp light caught his dark eyes, pupils wide with excitement. The Major's eyes were the furious green of a summer storm as he advanced, thumb caressing the knife's hilt.

 

“I understand now.” He spoke quietly, a whisper of rage. “It was all you, wasn 't it? Did you devise the ambush, too? Did you really betray your army and your King for your...what? Are you jealous? Angry? Did I _wrong you_ in some way?” He jerked his head toward Ren, who yanked the gag out of Tarkin's mouth to hang damp around his neck.

 

The other man coughed, then spat, just shy of Hux's feet. “You have no proof. There _is_ no proof. What you are doing now will find you court-martialed, maybe even executed.” He grinned, and Hux finally noticed the blood from where Ren must have loosened a tooth while knocking him out. He reached out and jabbed a finger at it, making Tarkin yelp in pain. “Ren, you left this unfinished.” Hux did not.

 

He flicked the removed tooth onto the ground, his attention never leaving the now cursing and spluttering Tarkin. “You don't have to give me a reason. I'd _like_ to know, but it does not really matter, in the end.”

 

“Swine!” Tarkin spat out, bloody spittle trickling down his chin. “The best grades. The best marksmanship scores. The best woman waiting for you. The better posting. Faster in the ranks. Everything handed to you because of your father. You should have died in the ambush!”

 

“So it was you,” Hux hissed. “Traitor. You should have come to do the job yourself. Or hired someone competent to do it for you.” His gaze flicked quickly to Ren then back.

 

“But you can't prove it!” Tarkin reminded him, voice high in pitch. “You think I left evidence just lying around? Daddy's precious boy is disgraced in abject failure. You can't go home, even if you aren't hanged here in these filthy colonies.”

 

Hux silently stared at the other man, stoic, but his expression soon cracked with low laughter. Both Ren and Tarkin looked at him with surprise. “You are right. There is nothing waiting for me in England, and only death here. So why don't I take you with me?”

 

A grin broke out on Ren's face, and he shifted his prisoner, looping his arms under the man's shoulders and holding him tightly in place. He murmured something into Tarkin's ear which made the man turn pale as the moon that shone through the surrounding trees. Then he began humming, low and quiet, eyes watching his Major carefully.

 

The knife easily cut away buttons, popping open the stiff vest. Anytime Tarkin squirmed, Ren would growl something in his ear that sent him still again. Hux cut open the shirt, with an unnecessary delicacy, his movements calm and purposeful. Then he made good on his threat, the gory desire he'd voiced to Ren in the dim light of a little farmhouse.

 

When it was over, Ren dropped Tarkin's bloody corpse to the ground. He stepped over it, attention fully on Hux, who was looking at the dagger in his blood-stained hands. “Brendol.” He spoke quietly, calling Hux back from whatever darkness had taken hold of him during the torturous execution. Green eyes slowly rose up, then he frowned, and handed the dagger over to the Hessian. He shrugged out of his heavy red coat, a garment he'd once worn with great pride, now splattered in gore, and shoved it at Ren.

 

“Burn it.” His voice was cold, and Ren raised a questioning brow. “I am not an officer anymore. I am nothing. I have nothing. Get rid of it.”

 

Ren nodded, then bent down to gather up the scattering of letters that had been dropped earlier. “We will burn it all in the hearth.” Hux gave a shrug, then headed back in the direction of the farmhouse, with Ren following quietly behind, an odd, thoughtful expression on his face.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Coat and parchment mingled with wood ash in the hearth, and Hux still sat in bloodied clothes, watching the fire continue to burn. He hadn't spoken on the way back, and had immediately sat down on their return. Ren warmed some water, and knelt down beside the chair to gently clean the blood from Hux's hands with a scrap of cloth. The Major's attention shifted, and he looked down at the Hessian curiously.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Cleaning you up. Or do you want to sit bloody all day?”

 

Hux frowned. “No, I mean.... You're free. Fired, I suppose? Relieved of your duties. I'm not an officer anymore. I have no soldiers to lead. No post to station. No home to return to, and a ruined career. Assuming I could even access my finances, well...I'm not going to keep you on as a personal servant. You're a warrior.”

 

Ren snorted softly and kept scrubbing blood from around the Major's fingernails. “ _Dummkopf_ ,” he murmured, scowling as he worked blood out from underneath a nail. “I am going nowhere. And you are not dying.”

 

Hux chuckled darkly. “No? What are we going to do? Stay here on this pathetic little farm, hiding, killing anyone who comes near?”

 

The Hessian grunted, rinsing his cloth in the bowl of warm water. “I have some ideas. If you are willing to turn traitor.”

 

He was quiet a moment, head tilted curiously. “I have nothing left to betray. What Tarkin did not ruin, I have ruined myself this night.”

 

Ren hummed thoughtfully. “Well, before I ran off with you, I heard rumors. The colonists...the Americans. Offering land. _Fünfzig_ _acker_ for Germans who turn. More for British officers, but you said you are not one now.”

 

Hux stared in silence, watching the cloth turn red again with Tarkin's blood. “.... That is my lot now. Not yours. You would leave your army, your country?”

 

The Hessian shrugged, then turned his head up with a grin. “I do not care. I can get work here. I came here for something new. For some fun. I can still do that on my own. There is always something to hunt.”

 

Again the Major stared, not entirely sure what sort of conclusion they were forming, or what agreement they seemed to be coming to. “I don't understand. You want to leave your army. Defect to the Americans. And live here, on your own land.” He paused, brow furrowing. “With me.”

 

“Why not?” He paused, a smirk tugging at full lips. “Ah. You do not want to be American? Is that it? Well, you do not have to. I will be. You will be... _freistehend?_ Without country. _Ausgebürgerte_. You cannot go home. Here you are a criminal.” His smirk grew. “You can live in my country.”

 

Hux studied the other man curiously, but there was a tiny twitch of amusement on his face. It passed quickly. “What if this is not America? You assume the King will lose his colonies.”

 

“Ah. Well, _ja_. And he will. Ah, do not get angry at me. It is easy to see. They will not stop fighting. They have _Französisch_ aid. A little now, but there will be more soon. The _Französisch_ know what this war means. And that will change everything. If I am wrong, well....” He shrugged. “It changes nothing, _ja_? It will be the same for you.”

 

There was truth to that. Whether or not the colonies remained in British hands meant nothing. And, in fact, it would be better for Hux at this point if they did not. The sentiment, the forced change in loyalty, made him slightly nauseated. Ren picked up on it immediately, and brought one of the now clean hands to his mouth, where he kissed first the palm, then wrist. “England is not your country anymore. George is not your King.” He turned the hand over and kissed at knuckles. “I can be your King, if you want. Or be your own, and I will serve you.”

 

He spoke in a soft murmur, the lilting, seductive tone that had convinced Hux to take Tarkin's punishment into his own hands. Green eyes watched as one of his own pale fingers was drawn between plush lips and into a warm mouth. Despite himself, Hux let out a groan. “You are a demon.”

 

Ren chuckled, low and deep, and nipped at the finger before releasing it. “ _Ja,_ maybe. What do they say.... Make a deal with me?”

 

Hux went quiet, eyes flicking over Ren – the smug smirk, the rough hands that held his own, the mass of dark hair that framed his pale face, the broad shoulders, the monstrous creature that was quite literally kneeling at his feet and offering a way out of the disaster his life had so quickly become. With his free hand, the nails still caked in dried blood, he pushed back the mane of hair, ran his fingers through it, and gripped it roughly at the nape of the man's neck. He held Ren in place as he leaned down, pressed rough lips against that smug mouth, and bit down hard enough to draw blood, which he licked away as he pulled back. “I believe you sign pacts with devils with blood.”

 

The Hessian broke out into a wide, teeth-baring grin.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fünfzig acker - Fifty acres (Germans could receive up to 50 acres; defecting British officers received 50-800, based on rank)  
> Freistehend - Detached, self-supporting  
> Ausgebürgerte - expatriate  
> Französisch - French/the French


End file.
